Colours
by ignitesthestars
Summary: The night of the fete, the Darkling visits Alina's room after all. A what-if scenario, based on the idea that Baghra never came, and he did.


"Alina."

The voice was low, unhurried. There was a door between her and it, and her mind was a jumble of confusion and regret besides, but she still heard it as clear as though it had been whispered into her ear. A bolt of anticipation shot through her, although whether it was the good kind or bad kind, was anyone's guess.

Alina lifted her head, staring at her door. He wouldn't knock, of course. A part of her wondered if he had ever knocked on a door in his life, even as her body unfolded itself, dragging her towards the door.

He'd come. And she was a mess, eyes swollen, breath uneven. A faint snort escaped her, despite everything. There was no denying that she'd looked beautiful for their demonstration, but if he'd come here looking for that, he definitely wasn't going to find it. Alina clung to that dry thought as she twisted the handle down, tugging the door open. Dregs of bad humour were the only shield left to her now.

The first thing she noticed was the frustration. Or at least, what passed for the emotion with the Darkling. Eyebrows drawn together, lips parted slightly, faint disbelief scrawled over his face like he couldn't quite accept that he might have to say her name a second time.

He didn't, of course. She'd answered, even though she didn't know what that meant.

"You're crying," he said, after a moment. One large hand came up, cupped her jaw. She could feel her pulse stir under his little finger, even as he swiped his thumb gently over her cheek and the wetness there. Of all the things he'd expected to find in her room this night, it seemed that tears had not been one of them.

"I…" She closed her eyes, taking some comfort in the surety that swept over her again at his touch. But between his proximity and everything that had happened that night, words were lost to her. "Yes."

"Because of me?"

_Just admit it_. The memory of Mal's sneer reverberated through her body, and she stiffened. _He owns you_.

The hand withdrew, and it only took one look at the sudden coldness sweeping over the Darkling's features for Alina to realise he'd misunderstood. Before she could say anything to clarify the situation, he was already turning away from her.

Leaving her alone. Just like Mal had.

Except. Mal hadn't come to her for _her_. He'd come expecting a scared, sickly little girl, and when he'd found a Grisha instead, he'd rejected her just as thoroughly as she thought he had with the letters. The Darkling, on the other hand, had never faltered in his belief in her. In what she was, _who_ she was. Where Mal had turned away from her after her demonstration that evening, the Darkling had – well, he'd done a little more than embrace her.

So when he went to turn away from her, Alina snapped out her arm and grabbed his wrist. He stopped immediately; she wondered if he'd been expecting that, or hoping for it.

"Just…saying goodbye to an old friend," she said, truthfully enough. "Please. Don't go. I don't want you to go."

There was no hesitation from the Darkling as he returned to her, so smoothly and suddenly she barely even saw him move. The door shut behind them, but by the time she registered that, his arm was already curving around her waist, tugging her flush against him.

"Then I will stay," he said simply, and his mouth was on hers, unrelenting.

It would be so easy to be consumed by him, a quiet part of Alina mused. The rest of her was busy throwing her arms around his neck, moulding her body to his as she kissed him back. The dark swallowed so much, after all. But the Darkling – he called _to_ her, power pulsing through her body even now. He raised her up, and she was determined to meet the challenge of his expectations. Light and dark in harmony together – it could be done, couldn't it?

Alina gasped, breath coming too-fast as he broke the kiss. A thread of panic wormed its way through her chest, but he made no move away from her. No, he was doing the same thing he had earlier, his lips moving from her mouth to her jaw, down her neck. She carded her fingers through the thick weight of his hair, nails scraping accidentally against his scalp. He didn't seem to mind, though, his lips and tongue and the faint, intoxicating nip of teeth painting a pattern along her throat in revenge.

The sound that drew from her was probably obscene, but Alina didn't care, tipping her head back to give him more room to work with. And he took it, claiming every inch of the bare skin there. She could feel the connection between them in every kiss, every touch of skin on skin; this time, there was no anger in him.

He didn't have anywhere to be but here, she realised dizzily. Underneath a heavy blanket of pleasure, nerves squirmed in her stomach – but there was something like exultation there as well. The amount of times Mal's eyes had slide over her rose unbidden to the forefront of her mind, and was just as quickly shoved back down again, buried deep. A slate-grey gaze was drinking in the sight of her, the _real_ her, _kefta_ and all, and the surge of desire that ran through him to her was enough to push aside any lingering doubts.

The hand not at her waist lifted, following the path his mouth had taken over her neck. The light touch made her shiver, and even in the dim light of her room, she could see the way the corner of his mouth lifted slightly.

"Sensitive?"

If Alina hadn't been flushed before, she definitely was now. "Maybe I'm cold," she shot back.

That twitch transformed into a curve, and she was transfixed by his smile as his hand dragged back through her hair. He tugged lightly at a few strands, and Genya's careful knot came undone, sending curls cascading about her face. The Darkling wound one idly around a finger, still smiling.

"You are not cold."

He was right, of course. She felt as though she were on fire, heat working it's way through her stronger and more intense than anything she'd summoned on her own before. The smug look on his face didn't help, of course, and abruptly she couldn't tell if that heat was need, or embarrassment.

"I'm not-" she started, ducking her head in spite of his hand. "I mean, I haven't-"

There had been kisses, of course, but none that had ever inspired her to go further. _Not like this_, she thought dizzily, remembering his hand on her thigh. In the face of a man who was apparently one hundred and twenty years old, her inexperience was probably painfully obvious.

He left her hair alone, fingers tipping her chin up to look at him. That smile was still there, but it was his eyes that made her breath catch. She hadn't thought such a cold colour could burn.

"Good," he said, and she thought she caught a rough edge to his voice. He didn't explain, and she didn't ask. His mouth came down upon hers again, and she kissed at his smile instead, as though some part of her could hold onto it that way.

_Good_. It shivered through her as his hand dragged down the curve of her back, his touch _possessive_. There was something about that, something about the way he seemed so reluctant to let her go, that gave her courage. She laughed her triumph against his mouth when he stilled, the sweep of her hands over his body surprising him.

"This is the only thing I want to be doing," she whispered into his kiss, letting her fingers smooth down the front of his chest. The part of her that had been crying on the floor over Mal stirred uneasily at that, but it was such a small part. Nothing, in the face of the Darkling, and their connection, and the way he looked at her. "I hope you weren't expecting me to just lie back and let you overwhelm me."

He laughed. It vibrated through her, making her sway into him as he drew the sound along the line of her jaw with his lips, not stopping until he reached her ear. "I am learning to be careful with what I expect of you." The slide of silk over her skin was intoxicating, but it was nothing in comparison to the brush of fingers on thigh when his hand moved even lower. "I can never quite...pin you down."

At that moment, she'd have to disagree with him. He might not have had her up against a door, but that didn't make her any less immobile. _More_. The word pulsed through her, and his _kefta_ creaked in protest as her fingers curled tightly into it. It wasn't the Darkling that overwhelmed her, but the sudden depth of her want.

**_More_**.

He felt it. He had to have, just as she'd felt his anger and his bitterness, his desire for her. His breath shuddered out against her neck, and then both of his hands were at her legs, picking her up like she was nothing. It was instinct to wrap them around his waist, and there was no helping the soft _ah_ that escaped her at the sudden friction between her thighs. The Darkling stole the sound from her mouth, kissed her over and over as he walked them over to her bed.

"That is only the beginning," he promised, laying her back on the mattress. He wasn't exactly gentle about it, and she didn't want him to be. She wasn't some soft, breakable thing, not anymore. She was _Grisha_. "You will have more, Alina. You will have everything."

His lips fell to her neck again, but as good, as wonderful as it felt, it did nothing (or at least, not much), to distract her attention from the hand moving inexorably up her leg. Her skirts were bunched up around her waist now, and she had no urge to pushed them down again, no urge for anything except - well, _more_. Long fingers brushed along the seam of her thigh, and her hips rolled upwards without her even thinking about it.

Saints, but he had only been _kissing_ her, she thought dizzily. How could she be so keyed up, so desperate for his touch already? The answer pulsed through her entire body with every breath she sucked in, though, his power surging into her and then out again, tugging her very being along with him.

Cool air whispered over her skin, and that registered something in the back of her mind, the part of her that guided her mouth without permission from her brain. "Wait!" she panted.

His fingers tightened, digging into the soft flesh of her upper thigh. Alina moaned at the sensation, unable to help herself, and for a second it seemed as though the Darkling wasn't going to listen. As though he couldn't, as though that sound had struck a chord deep inside him, something primal and beyond even his great control.

But nothing, she was starting to realise, was beyond this man's control. Slowly, he forced himself to relax, lifting his head to stare at her. "What," he said, and his tone was completely unreadable, "is it."

Alina felt herself turning even redder, if possible. Which was more than a little ridiculous, given the situation she'd found herself in. One hand came up, gesturing at him.

"It just - doesn't seem fair," she managed. "It's a beautiful outfit, but it's not - I can't - it doesn't exactly have the same _advantages_ as mine."

His eyebrows rose, before an undeniable smirk crossed his mouth. "Are you getting tired of lying back and being overwhelmed, Alina?"

She squawked her indignation, even as her face invented new shades of crimson. The worst part was that he wasn't exactly _wrong_, in spite of her declaration to the contrary before.

"Did you want me to undress you, or not?" she demanded.

A chuckle rumbled up from his chest, and he held his arms out from his sides in invitation. "By all means."

Alina pushed herself up onto her elbows, swallowed. She wasn't not nervous - she was _terrified_, and exhilarated, and really, it was only a _kefta_. Only his chest under it, and then the rest of him, and she knew exactly what he had come here for. What she wanted him to do.

She realised, then, that her fingers were already moving without her say-so. Trembling a little, but still managing the buttons without too much trouble. Slowly, she unwrapped him, hyper-aware of those quartz eyes watching her, offering no help or hindrance as she pushed the material back off his shoulders.

He's so _pale_ she thought, drinking in the sight of him. It only added to his beauty, and bizarrely, she wondered if she had to ask permission to touch. It's a stupid thought, mostly because _he_ definitely hadn't asked permission before putting his hands on her. Obviously she was in awe of the Darkling, racked with her own insecurities, but if this was going to happen - if she was really going to do this, she wasn't about to go into it with making a formal submission to touch his chest.

"Something you like?"

"I'm going to hit you."

"If I had known you were going to abuse me, I never would have let you undress me."

She leaned up and kissed him then, because if he kept talking, her head would probably explode from the blood rushing to her cheeks. Still, the lips she pressed against his were curved up in spite of her embarrassment, because this was a side of him she'd only ever seen flashes of before. It was a side of him that everyone _else_ had only seen in flashes, and she felt a surge of triumph rush through her all over again as she broke away from him, mimicking the way he'd kissed down her neck earlier.

Alina was the one who had brought those flashes into the light. Even if it was only in front of her - but she broke that thought off as her mouth worked down across to his shoulder, her fingers travelling lightly over the plane of his stomach. There was no 'even' about that. She _only_ wanted this part of him to be for her.

_Good_, he'd said earlier, and she thought she understood. Her hands grew more sure, pressing harder as she scraped her teeth lightly over his collarbone, and then he was pushing her back onto the bed, stealing her mouth with a low growl.

She had had her fun, she realised. Her exploration had only fueled the flames of desire between them, and there really was no going back now. His hand was under her skirts again, and she cried out at the sudden _zing_ of pleasure that tore through her as his fingers moved over her core. She'd had undergarments at one point, she was sure of it, but at some point between his kisses, he'd seen to it that she didn't.

And Alina didn't care. _More_, she'd asked for earlier, and the Darkling was making good on his promise. She fell into him, his mouth and his hands and his power. She wanted to say that her body felt like it belonged to someone else, but she knew it was her mouth whimpering like that, her hips jerking, more_more__**more**_**. **Her nails, scraping down his back, clinging to him. Holding him close.

At some indeterminable point, the brush of more bare skin against her leg broke through the haze of pleasure enveloping her. His trousers had gone the same way as her undergarments she realised abruptly, and some distant, amused part of her noted that _he_ didn't have any of those to worry about. The rest of her was too busy being lost, overwhelmed in the exact way she'd swore she wouldn't be (although the red furrows in his back prove that she wasn't just lying back).

"Mine," he murmured, and his mouth was on her throat again. "You are mine, Alina."

_He owns you_. The words floated through her mind, but she no longer remembered where they came from, and had no wish to disagree. If she was his, he was just as much hers, at least in this moment. His touch moved over her, _through_ her, leaving her trembling and desperate with need.

And then he was inside her, in every conceivable way. Alina felt her back arch, a sound almost like a sob tearing itself from her throat. One hand dug deeper into his shoulders, and the other fell away, momentarily out of her control; he captured it easily, winding their fingers together and pinning it to the bed. They twined together, until there was no Alina and no Darkling, just a single entity, consuming itself.

The Darkling rocked up into her, reached for her with his very being, and Alina responded eagerly. _This is who I am_. The thought spread dizzily through her nerves, racing the bloom of her power and the sharp, searing pleasure he had wrought in her, until she thought she might explode from it all.

And she did, light scattering through the room in a thousand broken pulses as her entire body shuddered in release, and he followed her over.

Silence. Not awkward, but beautiful, broken only by the sounds of panting, and then slower, more even breathing. Slowly, carefully, Alina let her free hand drop away from his back; he pulled out of her, and she gave a startled moan, surprised at just how sensitive she remained. There was a pause, before another faint chuckle met her ears.

"My colours suit you," he said softly, and what felt like her whole body suffused with red as she realised she was still wearing most of her outfit from the fete.

Her free hand came up, covering her face. And then she peeked through her fingers, eyeing the length of his definitely, gloriously naked body. "I could get used to you like this," she admitted.

Satisfaction rolled through him - through the both of them, their connection blasted open by the extended contact. Alina wondered if they would ever be truly separate again.

"Wear them." He pressed another, lingering kiss to the hollow of her throat. "And I will see what I can do about indulging you."

Classes resumed the next day. Alina wore black.


End file.
